Oops, I Did It Again

Many thanks to Children of Bodem for providing a funny, yet perfect cover of this terrible song. Britney Spears has nothing on Metal. Please feel free to give it a listen while you finish reading. Great running/workout song.



I have two topics today.


The gym

I love going to the gym. For most people it is a mean to perfect one’s narcissism. To me, the gym is great comedy. It just so happens a beneficial byproduct is I can go home and pretend I’m in shape. At the gym you get to see all sorts of wild, crazy things. “Chaches” Pronounced: "chawch" are my favorite gym creature. I owe my understanding/mockery of chaches to my buddy David. I’ll defer to his definition of Chach; a Chach is that guy who wears graphic tees, half tucks his shirt into his jeans and wears those hideous Kanye West shades. (For those not totally keen on what graphic tees are, they are t-shirts that have weird hieroglyphic/dragon designs on ½ of the shirt that seem to disappear into the armpit.) I have also included a link to the Urban Dictionary definition of chach.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=chach

When I'm not transfixed by the Justin Bieber (love his hair) video of “Baby, Baby”, there are three chaches working out together at the gym that provide me with some priceless entertainment. Yes… T H E Justin Bieber. I will not apologize for my interest/fascintion in this Disney created phenom. Whenever his video comes on UrbanActivision, the world around me stops. I can’t turn away - he is so talented. Imagine Major Arnold Toht when he opens the Ark of the Covenant.

Getting back to the comedy… The chaches all have guts and are wearing their eminem inspired a-frame (wife-beater) shirts proudly. At 5:30 in the morning they have the Growing Up Gotti/Jersey Shore hairstyles in full effect. Seriously? You dipped into your AXE hair pomade to workout in the wee hours of the morning? If you would spend more time doing sit-ups instead of looking in the mirror at your perfectly coifed girl-hair, you might not have that freakish looking thing reminiscent of Kuato in Total Recall protruding from your midsection. (Total Recall = Great Movie. AHH-Nold is numero uno! As an aside from this tangent, if you have not seen Pumping Iron, rent it. Today. Fabulous.)


5 tips for my friends out there with the XY chromosomes. Those of the fairer sex, feel free to pass these along.

1. Wear a belt. Pant/short wearing without a belt looks ridiculous. You are not 5! You don't have elastic in your waistband. I cannot begin to explain how many times I see this. It has gotton to the point where I feel like petitioning outside the WHO in Geneva to classify this trend as a pandemic.

2. Your shoes and belt should match. We have all played “Go Fish” before. Make it a game. Find your shoes, and fish for the same color belt. Simple.

3. White athletic socks do not go with Dress Pants. EVER!

4. Short-sleeved dress shirts are for Sipowitz. Do not buy them. These shirts are only for overweight NYPD detectives.

5. Hawaiian Shirts are a no-no. Unless you are at a Jimmy Buffett concert, or greeting passengers de-planing in Kahului, do not wear these shirts. Give them to your kids so they can use their poster paints.

And I thought Euros dressed funny.



Until next time… ...if there is a next time. I would like to exit with some inspirational words from Lil' Wayne.

"And I got blind money money you will never see
And only in the mirror is where you'll find a better me
I make money and my fingers make the letter B
I'm very sick, very sicker than you
And when I play sick, I'm Jordan with tha flu"

"One Way Trip" by Lil' Wayne from the Album "Rebirth"


Peace,
B-Weve

!WARNING!

*DO NOT ADJUST YOUR MONITORS*

The blog you have been reading for the last few months (or not been reading due to its owner’s lack of witty/creative ideas for entries…) has been hijacked. If you don’t mind the prose of a left-brained engineer, then keep reading…


…DISCLAIMER…

I just learned to read last week so please bear with me. This writing thing may take some time. I prefer to work with numbers and CAD drawings. For the Jane Eyre/Brontë Sisters crowd, the term “CAD (Computer Aided Design)Drawings” is a fancy way of describing pictures made on a computer. I wanted to use bullet points; but this would have thrown off the liberal arts majors and caused panic. (I pictured in my mind’s eye the simplistic and straightforward structure making their heads explode. “You can’t use symbols to get a point across! You need to spend countless pages trying to explain the intricacies of the color green! How else is someone supposed to know the setting is in Ireland?)

So, without further ado…
What is with the kiosks in the malls? Whatever happened to the benches where men could sit and consume an Auntie Ann’s pretzel and cherry Slurpee while their wives/girlfriends take forever to find and try on items they will never buy? Does anyone else get fully annoyed with the constant pandering/pestering by the associates working these lean-to impersonating shopping stores? Nevermind the shi**y products they push? The phones, lotions, Crocs, hair extensions, hyperbaric chambers made from recycled 55 gallon oil drums, chalk drawings of Eminem, Kurt Cobain, etc... Excellent. Just what I needed; a picture of Tupac and Biggie hugging to put in my living room.

Has anyone else had a run-in with these XTC pill-popping sales associates that work these places?? (Yes, they are run-ins. I don’t intentionally seek out the person(s) trying to sell me something I will never use.) They are like Hyenas after seeing a giraffe go down with a broken leg.


Sales Associate: (More chipper than Danny Kaye dancing in Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas”)

“Sir, can I have a moment of your time?”


Me: (Rolling eyes)

“I guess.”


Sales Associate: (Foaming at the mouth like Old Yeller)

“Would you like to have the most soft, supple hands on the planet while simultaneously reducing your cuticles?”


Me: (Blank Stare)


Sales Associate: (Taking my hand and trying to rub lotion over it with a perma-grin à la Jack Nicholson’s “The Joker”)

“With our patented formula of ground up cow intestines, aloe and spider monkey dung, your skin can be as soft as cashmere! Wouldn’t that be AWESOME?”


Me: (Responding like Brad Garrett with an annoyed look on face)

“Sure”


Sales Associate: (Almost to Jenna Jameson time)

“With this lotion you not only will have the softest skin around, but you’ll be helping employ third world children while increasing your self-confidence!”


Me: (Wishing I were being bull-whipped and then forced to wear a cilice - I would like to thank my Catholic School Education for that word)

“I’ll bet. Thanks.”



Sure, I would just love to have no cuticles. It’s right up there with wearing guy-liner. Queue Gob Bluth. "C’mon!" Seriously, I am a dude. Only George Costanza would ever aspire to be a hand model. I want to get in and out of the mall as fast as possible. The place makes me feel like General Zod stuck in the glass prison flying through space. All I think of when asked “Do you like how this looks on me? is “Where is the nearest BEST BUY?” At least there I can talk techie-nerd things with the zit faced, world of warcraft playing employees that until they can build one will never ever see a woman naked.

It just dawned on me… I know what happened to all the benches from the malls. They are now at wal mart. You know... Those beautiful metal things parallel to the shopping aisle end-caps that leave the criss-cross pattern on the back sides of the grossly obese patrons? I thought you would.

WHY IN THE @#$% ARE THERE BENCHES IN wal marts?

WTF! It is a wal mart, not a park!

Is buying groceries and other stuff priced only $0.05 cheaper than Target or Meijer that tiring? Oh wait, I forgot “Rascal” batteries lose their charge. (See video)



I guess it is too much to ask people to walk down the aisle to get their bags of Oreos and Twinkies. Have you picked up yet on my lack of respect for wal mart? They do not deserve to be capitalized. I’ll save that for another discussion if the “powers that be” (“cough” Becky) don’t censor me.

Till next time…
Peace!
B-Weve

Ice Cream

Shoot.

It's after 7:00 (it's 7:10) and I'm sitting here eating a bowl of ice cream. It's a small bowl, and I probably won't eat all of it, but regardless, I am eating.

Swam for an hour today--more than 1.5 miles, so now I sit here eating ice cream. Who knew.

Well, I was eating ice cream--I just fed the last part (about half) to the dog. It was really good. Vanilla topped with homemade granola. Yum.

We all fall down. :) Today was amazing: read books on the porch with the boys forever this morning, and got my raised beds ready for tomatoes--and now, I ended the day with a small bowl of ice cream. Good for me.

Have a wonderful day. I've got a run tomorrow. :)

b

Blinkers, Unmade Beds, and Bad Customer Service

A word or two on pet peeves.

I wanted to take this time to touch on pet peeves. We all have them, and although we may categorize them differently the end result is usually the same: annoyance.

Here are a few of mine.

1. Blinkers. God through man put blinkers on automobiles to be used.

2. Unmade beds. I detest an unmade bed. If I take a nap at 3:30 in the afternoon I have to remake the bed. Note: This does not apply to beds in other people's homes. I don't care how your beds look all day, but 99 times out of 100 mine are made before 8:00 am.

3. Bad Customer Service. My parents owned their own business most of my formative years, and during said time period I often worked the cash register--not glamorous, but excellent for spending money. My dad and my aunt were usually in charge, and both were sticklers for excellent customer service. As a result I place an incredibly high value service as a whole. From waitstaff to telemarketers I expect superior service, and when it's bad I do not hesitate to write a letter or call a manager about it. (Ask the kind (or not so kind) folks at Columbia Gas--there's a scathing letter in their BBB file.) I'm quick to praise--do a good job and your boss might get a note detailing how well our family was treated. Feedback is important. If we allow people to continue using rude and demeaning behaviors we shouldn't expect anything to change.

Which leads us to...
4. COMPLAINERS--who complain just to complain, they aren't going to do anything substantial to solve the problem (it is, of course, the responsibility of someone else) so they just complain to hear themselves talk. Awesome. I could expound for hours here--but it's closing in on bed time.

Now you've read about a few of my pet peeves--let's hear yours. Anyone?

B

Been Gone Too Long

First of all, I'm sorry it's been so long. There is no reason; I wasn't sick or on vacation, and our computer didn't blow up. For those who were enjoying the rantings of a thirty something mom, I'm honestly sorry I haven't been writing more often. (Or at all for over a month.)

Here's the thing. I fell off the wagon. Actually, fell is a bit of a misnomer, I'm thinking jumped headlong into a pit of chocolate may be slightly more accurate. You see my friends, Lent is over.

Some of you are no doubt laughing, and rightly so. I'm not laughing--I'm swearing at the Easter Bunny and his candy, oh, and my no existent self control. For 40 days I was able to avoid both alcohol and sweets, and although it was tough I managed to get through it relatively unscathed. Easter morning-candy and donuts, and that's a ditto for lunch and dinner, but throw in some ice cream for good measure and you've got the picture. Since then I've said I'm trying to stay off sweets again until the half marathon on May 1. What a joke. Between Ben's birthday, the library's 100 years of service celebration, and Nick's All About Me special treat I've been eating almost anything covered in frosting or foil (that would be candy eggs, bite size Snickers (or Butterfinger, or Crunch, or Milky Way, or Twix).

What to do, what to do. Blah, Blah to the diet crap. I've learned over the last 6 years that I can't diet with shakes or miracle pills--for me it's just another license to eat. Portion size and frequency--that's where I lose (or gain). I do this all the time; talk, talk, talk, talk, write, write, write, complain, complain, complain. And what happened? I stopped writing for over a month and I allowed myself to no longer be accountable, and the goals I'd set for myself became less and less apparent and significant.

That ends today. I tried my shorts on today, and while they fit, they are tight--two weeks ago, not so tight. The path I am currently wandering along is not where I should be headed, and seriously, I need to (sorry Rachel and mom) get my shit together. I know I could have worded it more gracefully--but it wouldn't have expressed my absolute anger and disappointment with my lack of self control. Ugh.

There's the weight rant. I've again (ugh, how annoying) committed to not eating after 7 pm---additionally, the sweets are off limits until race day. Please, I beg all of you--hold me to this--support this decision, I'd value help from any or all of you!

How about some good stuff. The running still continues to go well. I've got one long run left before the race, and I'm feeling good about where I'm at right in the training process. I'd like to run something in Michigan sometime this summer if anyone is interested give me a holler and we can try to work it out.

Thanks for bearing with me for this blog. I promise to be back with something more interesting tomorrow.

B

Mean Girls.

You know, hurt feelings totally suck.

In February I wrote about the dreaded middle school years and the awkwardness that goes with them--it's both enlightening and disheartening how frequently the old crappy feelings still happen, and how even at 34 I'm no better at handling it than I was back then.

I still remember giving a lecture to my class of 8th grade girls (they are sophomores in college now)---it centered around the fact that women, for whatever reason, can't just be nice. We're catty, we're gossipy, we're (mostly) jealous, we ignore, and we are, quite simply, mean. This class had 11 girls--all different and amazing, but for the life of them they could not get along. Finally, I threw the 4 boys out in the hall and had a fairly frank discussion about this issue. Here's how it went: (As I remember it anyway.)

Girls are always mean. I'm 28 (or I was then)and there are still times people talk about me behind my back. They say mean things, things intended to hurt my feelings, and because I'm not always above it, I do too. It's awful, it's horrible, but know this: It doesn't change, so get used to it right now. Stop the crying and carrying on and on and on---start changing how you address the situation. Talk to the person who hurt you, tell them explicitly how it felt. Most bullies aren't used to people standing up to them--once you do it will be easier the next time, and, just so we're clear, there will always be a next time.

Clearly it's not verbatim (please, the speech lasted like 20 minutes), but you get the gist of it. Here's the thing--I hadn't thought about that situation until recently. Lately, I have been so guilty of gossiping and being mean. I try not to, but I'm prone to being a blabbermouth, so I'm sure I've had some speed bumps along the way.

Perhaps we need to have our own feelings hurt more often. It's not enjoyable, but the reminder is there---once we experience it (or suffer through it)we are far more likely to monitor our own behaviors.

It's time to begin thinking before speaking, and to wonder if what you've got to say builds someone up, or tears them down. I've been slugging through this process for the last week--often finding my version of humor, while funny to many, may be biting and caustic to someone else.

Beck

Two things:
1. Anyone out there interested in running? You've got plenty of time to train. Let's GO!

2. If you are currently following the blog do you get an e-mail each time I post a new entry?

Sunny Days+ Good Runs=Changed Perspective

I ran eight miles today and it totally rocked. Tuesday I ran five and it didn't.

Today the sun is brilliantly shining and the snow is (finally) melting. Tuesday it was cold and dreary.

Funny how two days changed my outlook and somewhat altered my caustic state of mind.

Here's the deal. I'm not back sliding on my rant from Tuesday, but I am ready to admit that it was, perhaps, harsher than it needed to be. For that, I do apologize. My aim was not to hurt feelings or cause friction between myself and people I care deeply about--I wanted to trigger action and change. Let me be the first to say I could have gone about it in a kinder gentler way.

I am sure to some my ramblings (or as my father put it--my rumblings) seemed self righteous, morally superior, and smug--I can unequivocally say that wasn't my intent. In fact--if I've learned anything through my experience it's that I don't get to make choices OR judgments about how other people spend their money. Sure, we may not agree, but the only money I'm actually responsible for spending is my own (and Ben's too, of course.)

I'll still gladly stand on my soapbox, hold my placard, and write what I believe, but from now on I'll at least think about tempering my rants. (Notice, I said I'd think about it---no promises. I've always freely (and sometimes brashly) spoken my mind, not sure I'm ready to change that just yet.)

So--go therefore and do good. Buy someone you don't know lunch. Hold a door. Use manners that would make your mother proud.

Oh, and run too. Remember to drop me a line if you're willing to put feet to pavement. :)

B